


26-Caught

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 4, The Long Shadow [26]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-13
Updated: 2009-12-13
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qui-Gon gets home a littler earlier than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	26-Caught

“I can explain,” Obi-Wan insisted, hastily pulling up his trousers and smoothing his askew tunics into place.

From the looks of him—flushed, trembling, hugely hard—Qui-Gon had interrupted him only moments before climax. What he was doing here and now, however, was as yet a mystery.

“Very well,” Qui-Gon replied in as neutral a voice as he could muster, his expression carefully bland. _This should be interesting,_ he thought.

And still, Obi-Wan hesitated. Was he trying to get hold of himself—or trying not to? Either way it could be dicey, Qui-Gon decided. “Well?” he prompted in an even tone, barely hiding his amusement.

“A deep subject, Master,” Obi-Wan gulped, more shame-faced than his master had ever seen him. Curiouser and curiouser.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Obi-Wan. Masturbation is a perfectly normal activity, as you well know. It’s your furtiveness that makes me a bit, well, curious, shall we say?” he hinted, hunting for clues. He was at something of a loss as to how to handle this.

Obi-Wan, normally honest and quick to take responsibility for his actions, looked away and swallowed heavily.

The boy—no, he corrected himself—Obi-Wan was no longer a boy, though at this moment he seemed terribly young. He was actually a charmingly rumpled and embarrassed young man, caught in a bit of awkwardness and apparently up to something. But what? Besides the obvious?

And still Obi-Wan was silent. He gave Qui-Gon a look he had seen before, on missions, when verbal communication was impossible. Only a glance, it sent a jolt of realization through him and a flash of lightning into his heart and his groin.

“This isn’t the first time, is it?” Qui-Gon said, finding the ground beneath him.

“No, Master,” Obi-Wan muttered in an agony of truth.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me, or ask me, Obi-Wan? Something else?” Qui-Gon prompted.

The young man took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, looking up, finally, at his master. “I suppose I’d better, though I’m fairly certain of what you’ll say.”

“And what’s that?” Qui-Gon folded his arm, settling in for the tale to come.

“That I’m too young. That I’m your apprentice. That I’ll get over it. That I can’t possibly know what I want yet. That I haven’t enough experience. That I can’t tell lust from love.” It was said in a reasonable if somewhat mocking tone of voice. More self-mocking, Qui-Gon thought, as though Obi-Wan were well aware of how absurd he was being. Well, after all, he’d been caught in a somewhat awkward state. If that was the way Obi-Wan preferred to deal with the situation, Qui-Gon saw no harm in going along. What else was there to do but see the absurdity and laugh at oneself?

Qui-Gon reflected that he might have had difficulty doing the same, had their positions been reversed.

“Now that you have stated the answers, would you like to share the question?” Qui-Gon prompted gently. There was no need to lacerate the lad’s feelings.

“It’s not so much a question as a confession, Master. I’ve been sneaking into your room to masturbate on your bed for, for years now, because I know it is as close as I can get to having you.”

Qui-Gon found he had been holding his breath, and let it out with a tiny grunt, as though he’d been sucker punched. He’d known this was coming; why was it such a shock? Why did it make his heart race? Yet it did. Deliciously.

“How many times have you had this conversation with me?”

“In my head? Every time I’ve cleaned up and smoothed the covers on your bed. Dozens.”

 _Dozens._ The thought made Qui-Gon’s pulse pound in his ears and his groin. He sat down on the bed and patted the space beside him, indicating Obi-Wan should join him. Warily, his apprentice perched on the edge of his master’s bed and looked at him askance. “And what was your half of it?” Qui-Gon asked. “We’ve heard mine.”

“I’m surprised you’ll hear me out.” And he did look surprised.

“I’m always interested in what you have to say, Obi-Wan. How do you answer those very logical objections?”

His apprentice drew another deep breath, steeling himself. “Very well,” he echoed Qui-Gon. “To the objection that I’m too young, I can only say that I believe I’ve proven my maturity. Have you had reason to doubt it since Melida-Daan?”

“Rarely, and not recently,” Qui-Gon admitted. Obi-Wan had always been extraordinarily mature for his age. It was what made the occasional lapses so spectacular.

Obi-Wan nodded, satisfied with the answer.

“To the fact that I’m your apprentice, I say that that need not be a barrier. The Code forbids only that you approach me first, not that I approach you. And I believe that we’ve already agreed that I’m mature enough to know the distinction between my master and my lover. Is that so?”

“We’ve established that you exhibit an admirable level of maturity. Whether it is enough to maintain that distinction is, as yet . . . unresolved.”

“Fair enough,” Obi-Wan responded. “To the objection that this is only a crush I’ll get over, I can only answer that it is indeed possible, but that my feelings for you haven’t diminished at all since I first realized what they were, and that therefore, it is unlikely.” 

“A subjective reply that cannot be easily refuted, though my experience informs me that one does, generally, get over such things. At least a little.”  Qui-Gon smiled with some sympathy, remembering how intense and eternal his own feelings had seemed when he was Obi-Wan’s age.

“Well, that speaks to my lack of experience, I must admit, which I think is less arguable now, however, than it might have been at an earlier age.”

“True,” Qui-Gon agreed. “But the number of years between us remains incontrovertible.”

“Also true,” Obi-Wan acknowledged with more grace under fire than Qui-Gon might have been able to muster with a raging hard-on in his lap. “To the objection that I can’t possibly know what I want yet, I can offer only that I’ve been trained by the finest of masters to know my own mind, and I’ve spent uncountable hours on my knees making sure I do in this case. The same answer applies to the objection that I can’t tell lust from love.”

Qui-Gon was silent for a time, very carefully giving nothing away. Finally, he turned to Obi-Wan, unable to stifle the heat in his voice. “And what story do you spin yourself when you lie on this bed with your cock in your hand?” The words, coming out of his own mouth, shocked him.

Obi-Wan’s face split in a wide, impish grin that was quickly suppressed. “Would you like me to repeat it?” he asked in a voice verging on sultry.

Qui-Gon swallowed heavily. “That would be . . . instructive.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him then moved back and lay down on the bed. “First,” he said, addressing the ceiling in a dreamy voice, “I just lie here, if I think I have time, and feel the energy that you leave behind you in this room. Usually it’s peaceful and soothing, but lately . . . lately it’s been unsettled. A little lonely, perhaps?”

Qui-Gon didn’t deny it. It was devilishly perceptive.

“Then I usually take one of your pillows, so I can have the scent of you.” Obi-Wan grabbed one from the head of the bed and inhaled deeply with it over his face. When he lifted it away, he looked almost intoxicated: glassy-eyed and smiling slightly. He put it beneath his head. “And then I imagine what it would be like if you knew what I was doing: how I would be lying here and you would come in and lie down next to me, and turn my face so you could kiss me.”

Qui-Gon, helplessly, found himself moving a little closer to his apprentice, lying down beside him and taking the young man’s chin in his hand to turn Obi-Wan’s face toward his own. The color of his eyes startled Qui-Gon. They were emerald green in the room’s soft light. “And then what?” he said, his voice fallen into a low rumble. That startled him, too.

“Then I imagine your mouth covering mine, nipping and nibbling at it.”

And then he was. His mouth was on Obi-Wan’s, the young man’s lips soft and pliable beneath his own, ripe for biting. So he did, nipping and nibbling until Obi-Wan let out a groan that shivered Qui-Gon down to the root of him. He drew back then, almost afraid of the power he had acquired to reduce his apprentice to that sound.

Obi-wan sank one hand into his hair and pulled him back down, until they were a breath apart. “And your tongue pushing into my mouth, tasting me, taking possession—” he whispered.

And Qui-Gon—lost, lost—dipped in again. Obi-Wan’s mouth opened beneath his at the touch of his tongue and inside was the taste of Obi-Wan and an agile tongue that curled around his own and pushed back to taste him. A knowing and practiced tongue. Not so inexperienced.

By the time they parted again, breathing faster, Qui-Gon had abandoned any pretense of restraint. “Have you touched yourself yet?”

“Oh, yes,” Obi-Wan purred. “I’ve been touching myself while I imagined your kisses. I’ve imagined your big, rough hand slipping inside my tunic and pinching my nipples.” One of his own hands did just that, as he lay on his back, Qui-Gon leaning over him and watching as though hypnotized. Obi-Wan pushed his tunics aside, revealing a hard little peak framed between his thumb and forefinger. And how he hissed in pleasure when they pinched together! Qui-Gon wanted to make that sound come out of his apprentice, too.  He wanted to bite and run his beard over one of those rosy pebbles, but Obi-Wan had other ideas. He guided Qui-Gon’s hand beneath the layers of fabric to the other nipple. “There, do it now,” Obi-Wan urged him. “Do it.” It felt impossibly tiny between his huge fingers, but solid, tempting. He pinched it slowly, watching Obi-Wan’s face. His apprentice’s mouth dropped open as his head rolled back against the pillow and his eyes closed. Qui-Gon covered Obi-Wan’s mouth with his own and kissed him again, slowly rolling the little pebble between his thumb and finger. Obi-Wan moaned into his mouth and wriggled against his hand. Qui-Gon felt his cock fill in a rush. All thought of what this might lead to, what it meant, had fled. There was only this beautiful man offering himself, showing Qui-Gon how to pleasure him.

He heard the fastenings of Obi-Wan’s trousers come undone again, and pulled back. “And then you do this:” Obi-Wan moved Qui-Gon’s hand again, sliding it down his own belly, pushing the fingers beneath his loosened waistband, guiding them beneath his small clothes, to curl his fingers around the crinkled skin of Obi-Wan’s scrotum. His balls had already drawn up close to Obi-Wan’s cock, and Qui-Gon gently teased them loose again, enjoying the way Obi-Wan writhed against the bed beneath him. He hefted the soft package in his hand, thumb caressing the textured skin, then squeezed gently and Obi-Wan bucked up against him. Qui-Gon leaned down for another kiss, one that didn’t end until they were both gasping.

When he pulled back from the kiss and looked down, Obi-Wan had shoved his trousers and small clothes down his thighs, allowing his engorged cock to bob free in the thicket of gingery curls at its base. “And by then I want to be as naked as I can be, because I imagine you are, too. But it’s always your hands that strip me, and mine that strip you.”

Qui-Gon did so, tenderly. First the sash, which he dropped to the floor. The outer and the inner tunics he merely spread wide against the covers, revealing a feast of pale skin, a thatch of gingery hair on the chest, not so thick as that below, but like that, indicating a man’s body, not a boy’s. The trousers and small clothes, as one, were shoved down the thighs and calves and kicked off to the floor.

Obi-Wan’s hands went to his sash then, as his mouth found Qui-Gon’s again. He lost himself so far in it that he barely felt his tunics loosening and falling away, Obi-Wan slipping them off his arms. Or the quick hands at his waist, making short work of his own fastenings, then hands sliding down his hips, his thighs, down his calves, ending with a heap of clothing on the floor.

And they were both naked. Not nude as they were in the showers together. Naked. On Qui-Gon’s bed. Together.

Before he could think anything more about it, Obi-Wan reached for his hand again, and closed it around his rigid shaft and guided his motions. “Like this, like this. I’ve been waiting to feel this, your hand on me like this—” Obi-Wan’s hand squeezed his own tighter, moved them faster; Qui-Gon swiped his thumb over the crown, into the slit and back down as Obi-Wan shuddered and cried out. He was so near the edge, so near, and Qui-Gon wanted to push him over and watch him fall and then catch him. He squeezed again and rubbed the spot under the glans with the calloused edge of his thumb and Obi-Wan bucked and yelled and came in a creamy jet that spattered across his chest and the bedclothes.

And before he could recover, Qui-Gon had found the lube in the bedside table, used often enough lately in his own solitary activities, slicked his own cock and was pushing into Obi-Wan, bending him double beneath his own greater weight. And Obi-Wan was laughing, urging him on, wriggling up against him to help. He went in so easily, as though he belonged there, as though he always had. Strong legs wrapped around his waist, pulled him in, let him go, squeezed and loosened, and muscles clamped hard around Qui-Gon’s cock, pulsing with each thrust. No finesse, no tenderness, no careful exploration: just Obi-Wan’s lush, young, welcoming body and Qui-Gon’s sudden, unholy need to empty himself into it.

He didn’t last long, coming explosively with a sharp cry, and when he was done, he let Obi-Wan down gently, unaware of having lifted him. He felt himself slide loose, and a sense of loss with that, and lay down beside his apprentice once again. They were both too stunned and breathless to speak for a time, but he felt Obi-Wan take his hand and kiss the fingertips one by one and lay it over his heart. It was pounding in Obi-Wan’s chest like a revving engine’s piston, just like his own.

“Every now and then,” Obi-Wan said finally, when he’d gotten his breath back, “I just want to reassure myself that I could seduce you all over again.” He rolled over, nuzzled into Qui-Gon’s neck, and yawned, throwing a leg over one of Qui-Gon’s.

Qui-Gon chuckled. “Well, if you’d like to seduce me again for the first time after your next mission, I’d be happy to play along, Master Kenobi.”


End file.
